


Everything You Can't Control

by Jenshih_Blue



Series: The Wonderland Series [1]
Category: Luther (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Series 2 of BBC's 'Luther' killer Alice Morgan is free to travel wherever she wishes. The first place she heads is America and in her travels she discovers there is far more to the universe than she ever was willing to believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This wee story is the result of a dream I had last night after finishing watching S2 of the BBC’s police drama Luther. And wondering how Crowley might discover Castiel is alive once again. Takes place directly after S7 Ep17 of SPN and post-S2 of Luther...Hope you all enjoy!

Disappointment was one way of describing Alice’s reaction when John had declined her offer to come with her before she left London behind. Her entire life she’d searched for what she would consider her perfect match and DSI John Luther had been the one.

Scratch that—he was still the one. One day he would cross the threshold and Alice would be waiting there with bright smile and open arms. It was simply a matter of time and time was all Alice Morgan had. For now, though she would wait and watch from afar until her other half called from across the ocean.

Today Alice was setting outside a small coffee shop in the middle of nowhere USA and sipping a latte doing one of her favorite things—people watching. It was quite amazing what one could see if they were actually watching. It was early, morning sunlight lined the building rooftops and spilled into the street below in pools of buttery yellow. It was spring, weather warm yet crispness in the air reminded those out and about winter was not far behind them. If any of the customers, who drifted through the doors and back out, had happened to give Alice a second glance they wouldn’t have seen much cause for concern. They would have been wrong.

To the outside world, Alice Morgan appeared to be another college student among so many from the local university. Dressed in jeans, sneakers, and pale grey button up hoodie she had an innocent appearance, vivid red hair tumbling in soft waves around her sweet girl next-door face. Anyone with common sense though would be able to see through the innocent mask had they looked into her intense blue eyes. There was something not quite right about Miss Alice Morgan, but Americans were even less observant than her fellow Londoners were.

Twirling her coffee stirrer, Alice was about to leave in search of better entertainment when she spotted two young men walking up the street from where they’d parked some ghastly vehicle pre-dating 1980. They seemed to be arguing although their voices were low enough to disguise the subject. Alice perked up, mouth twitching in a wicked smile. Perhaps the morning wouldn’t be a loss after all.

Behind reflective lenses, her eyes narrowed as she absently chewed the coffee stirrer between glossy pink lips. Both men were around her age, the oldest the shorter of the two and the younger one a massive wall of muscle reminding her of John and she sighed. From the looks of both they’d had a difficult life to say the least. The eyes were the focus if you wished to uncover the layers of any one person. Most people possessed tells, even the best of liars. It might be miniscule, but Alice was unique, she noticed everything—in particular the details.

As she watched, graceful fingers picking apart the orange-glazed scone in front of her, they passed by and their scent was enticing—medicinal undertones, cheap motel soap, motor oil and something else surprising. One perfect eyebrow quirked up at the scents she knew better than anyone; death and gunpowder. You see Alice was much more than a fresh-faced college student she was death in the most literal sense of the word. That was how she and John had met in the beginning—determined copper and the beautiful psychopath.

“Find them interesting do you, darling?”

She turned, one hand lowering her sunglasses to peer over the frames at the man who’d appeared in the chair next to her silent as a ghost. A glint of crimson swept through his dark eyes, something most would have explained away as a trick of the light, Alice Morgan wasn’t most though and never had been. She was a genius with an immeasurable IQ and a soulless creature to some, who could sniff out the faintest flaw in anyone, taking complete advantage of it. John had said once she was incapable of empathy and that was her flaw. Having a stranger study her beneath the proverbial microscope was not something Alice cared for in the least. She’d forgiven John simply because—well he was John, her soul mate, the yang to her yin.

“If I were you I might carefully consider your words before you speak to me again, little man.” She turned back to the coffee shop window.

“My…my, but you are a ballsy bitch. Aren’t you, love?”

Alice snorted, eyes never leaving her prey. “And you my foolish creature are a demon with far less intelligence than balls.”

“No need for name calling.”

Turning back to the man, she smiled. “Perhaps, I didn’t make myself clear.” There was a cold, calculating tone to her words that belied the smile. “I have no need for company.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise as he scented the air around her. “Bollocks, you’re not one of mine—yet. You’re a bloody human.”

“Indeed I am.” Alice laughed.

“How did you…?”

“Know you were a demon? Some might say evil recognizes evil. I on the other hand believe the stench of sulfur is far easier to recognize than most would believe.”

Crowley leaned back, ankles crossed and arms folded over his chest. “Most deny our existence even if we poke a pitchfork in their bleedin’ arse.”

“I’m not most.” She offered, returning her attention to the young men who’d exited and were now setting at a table on the opposite end of the patio.

After a few minutes of silence, Alice huffed out another laugh. “You are quite the persistent thing.”

“Simply checking in on my merchandise,” He stated without blinking an eye.

That caught Alice’s attention, her lips stretching in a wide smile. “I assume you’re staking a claim on the young men.”

“Staked, claimed, and exquisitely gift wrapped, darling, although they might protest.”

Alice spun in her chair, wide blue eyes focused on Crowley in a way that had him twitching in his meat suit. Humans were boring to say the least in his opinion and having claimed his throne as King of Hell, he hadn’t changed his mind, until now. There was something dreadful in those all too human eyes.

“Tell me about them.”

What was there to say about the Winchesters? Nothing more than their blue-collar, denim clad asses had become the proverbial thorn in his side. He sighed, smoothing his lapels and tie as he sat up, trying his best to avoid those eerie eyes boring through his skull with the persistence of a massive oil rig.

“Don’t let their outward appearance fool you.”

Her smile widened. “They smell of death and destruction on a massive scale. Who are they—really?”

“The simplest answer is two angelic vessels. They refused to play, took their toys, and tried to leave the sandbox. Do not get me started on the bloody mess they created. Humans are idiots, present company excluded of course.”

Alice’s tongue darted out to move along her lips in a slow seductive swipe as if she could taste the flavor of their souls. “Angelic vessels.” She mused. “Quite the tale, demon, but then again perhaps you have it entirely wrong.”

“What bugger all are you going on about?” Crowley rolled his eyes.

Reaching out with one pale hand, she caressed his cheek, eyes burning with an amused wickedness. Where her fingers trailed glacial paths followed along Crowley’s skin and he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have left when she’d ask him to. There was something deeply disturbing in not just her eyes, but her touch as well.

“They smell of manna, sweet and heavenly. If angels exist, which logic dictates since demons do, then your toys played among the feathers recently.”

Crowley’s eyes widened in shock at her words spoken with conviction that had his gut twisting. It was impossible. Castiel had given in to the wicked power he’d taken into himself from the bowels of Purgatory. He’d murdered indiscriminately his fellow angels, demons, and humans alike. Since his death, Heaven had fallen silent, and Crowley had watched Sam spiral down into insanity under the influence of Lucifer’s voice.

“Why whatever is wrong?” Alice giggled. “Have I told you something you failed to notice, demon?”

He focused on the two men across the way and realized this Alice bird was far more correct than he cared to admit. How had he missed it? Sam appeared healthy which made absolutely no sense. And Dean…well he appeared exhausted, guilt rolling off him in waves large enough to sustain the fires of Hell for eternity. Could Castiel be still alive?

“What could a simple human see the King of Hell could not?” he demanded.

Before Alice could reply, Crowley vanished leaving a hint of sulfur behind. “Goodness, how very rude, but then again what would one expect of a demon. King of Hell, indeed.”

Turning back to the men, she watched in silence as they stood and disposed of their coffee cups. On the table, her mobile began to vibrate and she picked it up her eyes lighting up as she answered the call.

“John, how lovely to hear from you.” As she listened, eyes intent, she watched the men walk past unaware—it appeared—that she was observing them. “Of course, you know how I feel about you. You need never ask when it comes to such things. Where am I? Oh, I hopped across the pond for a bit. Yes, swimming with the sharks.”

Ending the call, Alice stood and headed to her car, eyes focused on the Winchester boys with a gleam of curiosity. John might think her mad if she told him angels and demons existed, but a girl needed to keep busy. Perhaps, when they met again she would have solid evidence for him of her American adventure.

“Sharks indeed.” She whispered sweeping past her prey.


	2. Beginning the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice Morgan has discovered something far more fascinating than she ever expected in the States. It’s just the beginning of the game and who can guess the winner. Alice is willing to bet, whoever wins, it’ll be one hell of a ride with her newest prey the Winchesters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place directly after S7 Ep18 of SPN and post-S2 of Luther

Alice stood at the end of an uneven sidewalk, short brunette wig covering her natural red hair, and brown contacts disguising pale blue eyes. One of the things she’d learned early in life was the average person only paid attention to the exterior appearance of others in a general way; eye color, hair color, etc. If the people whose paths they crossed created the tiniest bit of discomfort with their presence, they would push even those things aside in an attempt to forget. Forgetting was preferable to admitting there were reasons not to walk through life blind, deaf, and ignorant.

Alice was one of those reasons ignorance wasn’t bliss.

She’d been following the two young men for some time now as they rambled through state after state, leaving a trail of desecrated graves, unexplained deaths, and property damage, not to mention the marked people. Those people they’d saved and yet none of them felt truly saved. Their lives turned upside down and abandoned much like an apple cart, the fruit of their existence smashed on the cobblestones of disbelief and terror.

“You do know if you could hide your sulfuric stench perhaps you would be able to surprise me on occasion.” She smiled flash of perfect white against the crimson of her lipstick.

Crowley snorted. “You do realize, love, they more than likely know they’re being followed by you.”

She turned, smile widening even further if possible and Crowley shuddered at the look in her eyes. Even with the contacts, she couldn’t hide what she was and what she was remained a mystery to him. When he’d first laid eyes on Alice Morgan, weeks ago, he’d made the mistake of believing she was simply one of a thousand black-eyed soldiers of Hell he was in charge of—being King of Hell and all. To his surprise, she was very much human. At least in theory she was although he had his doubts.

“They’re being followed by far worse than me, dear.”

“I doubt that, Alice.”

The way he said her name sent shivers of delight through her body. It amused her to no end the self-proclaimed King of Hell needed to change his knickers after he spoke with her every time. To be an immortal and powerful being yet cling to mortal fears was an interesting concept in Alice’s opinion as she studied the other world. Even John her beloved soul mate had more courage than this creature, fractured even as he was.

“You give me far more credit than I deserve, Crowley—or should I say Fergus?”

Crowley shuddered again. “How the bloody hell did you…?”

She pressed one gloved finger to his lips and shushed him. “I have my secrets, you have yours, and never the twain shall meet.”

Eyes narrowed, she turned back to the where the Winchester boys were packing their vehicle and bidding fair well to the young man (she believed his name was Garth) who’d called them for help. Garth amused her, but not as much as Crowley or the Winchesters did. Dean, the older of the brothers, was her present preoccupation, but not for the reasons most would gather. Yes, it was true he was pretty; a word most would never contemplate to describe a man of his age. His exterior beauty wasn’t what she was interested in though. She’d rather see what lay inside, hidden beneath layers of skin and muscle, especially what was encased in the delicate skull atop his shoulders.

Over time as she’d followed them, she’d picked Crowley’s brain and the demon was happy enough to spill his guts figuratively. Alice imagined it was his way of not making an enemy of her. She would say he was on the right track.

In her short life, Alice had never imagined there were other worlds, darker worlds, hidden beneath what society recognized and from what she’d learned Dean Winchester might be the perfect key to tap into those worlds. Of course, if he didn’t work out there was always his brother, Sam. Both had visited the other worlds, both sides to be precise if Crowley were telling the truth.

Who would have believed both Heaven and Hell existed?

According to Crowley, both brothers had spent time in Hell; Dean for forty years and Sam for one hundred eighty or at least Sam’s soul had. That was the reason Alice discovered herself torn between which one to choose first. Dean had died at the hands of what Crowley had claimed was the first demon to exist—Lilith—who had held the contract for his soul. The little man had actually sounded pissed about it, leaving Alice to file that particular observation away for further investigation later.

“Wherever is your devious mind wandering to, love?”

She blinked and turned back to the demon as the Winchesters left the parking lot of the motel in a cloud of dust and squealing tires. “You told me Lilith was the holder of Dean Winchester’s contract.”

“Yes.”

There was the annoyed tone again…curiouser and curiouser.

“This Lilith where is she? I would love to have a chat.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Trust me, darling, there was never such a thing as having a chat with that baby-eating whore, and even if there were she’s dead.”

Lips pursed, Alice walked around the corner and headed toward the door of the room the Winchesters had stayed in, one finger crooking in a come-hither motion. “Do tell, Fergus, how exactly does a demon die?”

Crowley flinched at the mention of his human name. He rather preferred the moniker the peon demons called him, Lucky the Leprechaun. Little snot-nosed, black-eyed bastards thought he was oblivious, but being oblivious when you were the dark overlord of Hell was impossible if you wanted to continue breathing.

“Now why would I tell you that?”

She focused on him once more and stepped closer until air would be lucky to pass between their bodies. One leather encased hand lifted to caress Crowley’s cheek in a lover’s touch and his eyes drifted shut. “Because you enjoy being what you are and I truly doubt you wish to be in pain.”

“Pain?” he questioned.

Alice smiled as his eyes opened and he lowered them to where she held a familiar knife in hand, tip of the blade hovering above his crotch. “Yes, pain, sweetie.”

“How did you get that blasted knife from them?”

She leaned closer, hand steady, breath warm against the curve of Crowley’s ear and whispered. “I didn’t. You know it is astonishing what one can find if one has the money and connections. You see the knife is not as unique as you might think.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Crowley focused on Alice’s face. “I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about, love.”

Alice pulled back, lifting the knife so the late afternoon light glinted off the polished blade. She tipped her head, studied him for a moment, and then laughed. “You really are telling the truth. You have no idea—do you?”

“About exactly what, darling? Whether you’ll leave my naughty bits intact?”

“About the knife or where it came from.”

He frowned in irritation. Ruby’s knife had been one of many mysteries he’d been looking into before the Winchesters had obliterated his carefully constructed plans for Purgatory. The only ones who’d known according the information he’d gather were Lilith and her lapdog bitch Ruby, but they had both bitten the eternal big one courtesy of the Winchester brothers.

“The only two twits who knew where it originated got their bloody arses killed by those two hairless apes in denim.” He spit out.

Alice tapped the blade of the knife against her lips as she considered Crowley’s words, eyes twinkling in amusement, “I would guess one would be this Lilith and the other?”

“Some stupid bint name of Ruby working for her; two of them had about as much sense as a turnip.”

“How?”

“How what?”

Spinning the knife between her fingers, Alice grinned. “How did they die?”

“Like I said the hairless apes.”

She pointed the blade at his throat, grin fading. “I meant how were they killed.”

Crowley swallowed hard as he stared into her eyes. “Wasn’t there, love, but what I learned from the Hell 411, Sam killed Lilith while he was juiced on demon blood. Released Lucifer by doing it and started the goddamn Apocalypse. The other one, Ruby, well Dean ended her on the point of the pig sticker in your hand.”

“This isn’t their knife.” Alice offered once more, heading back toward the motel room.

“What do you mean it’s not theirs?”

“Exactly what I stated, it’s not the one they carry. There is a set of these exquisite blades, five to be precise.”

His eyes grew wide as he stopped in his tracks. “Five?”

Alice chuckled, slipping the blade beneath her coat. “I don’t believe I stuttered, Fergus.”

“But—five?”

“Yes.”

For the second time in the past few months, Crowley discovered himself speechless, not a good thing for a man in his position. If he were to believe Alice Morgan, there were at least three more blades identical to the one the Winchesters had confiscated from Ruby. One demon-killing blade was one too damn many in his opinion, but now.

“Do close your mouth before you swallow a bug, love.” Alice knelt and removed a pick kit from her coat pocket. “It wouldn’t be right for you to choke to death after I decided not to end your miserable existence.”

Crowley blinked and closed his mouth. “How may I ask did you acquire this tasty tidbit of information?”

As the tumblers fell into place, the door creaked open, and Alice glanced up at Crowley with a beatific smile worthy of any angel. “As I said before one can discover numerous things depending on cash flow and contacts. Now, may I suggest you make yourself useful and ascertain where those beautiful, angst-riddled, pawns have wandered off to?”

Without a word, Crowley vanished in a gust of sulfur-laced air.

Pushing to her feet, Alice moved into the motel room, closing the door behind her and stood motionless taking in the details. The beds were empty, mussed, the covers tangled, and smelling of alcohol-tinged perspiration not to mention the stale onions from the appalling lunch the men had devoured the afternoon before. Little was left behind other than burger wrappers, a two day old newspaper and empty beer bottles, one of which she picked up and sniffed, delicate nose wrinkling in disgust. When would these Americans learn to make a decent beer?

There was also frostiness to the air that had nothing to do with the air conditioning and she smiled, faint tilt of her lips. She’d noticed the temperature difference a few towns back. It never lingered long after the men left, almost as if it couldn’t exist without their presence. After a bit it became crystal clear to Alice what the source was.

“Still here are you?” she whispered to the empty room. “I haven’t told that ghastly wee demon about you yet. I imagine he would know who you are considering the time he’s invested in your friends.”

She moved about the room, gloved hand trailing along the wall.

“You do realize what I want with them—right?”

The air grew colder and the drapes stirred, a sense of anger filling the room.

“Oh, yes I imagine you do, but then they don’t know you’re here. You have no way of telling them…” she paused, spinning in a circle, laughter blooming from her lips. “Even if you did it wouldn’t matter—would it? I’m not one of their monsters lurking under the bed or hiding behind the door, haunting decrepit manors. They wouldn’t kill me.” Her expression took on that of an innocent child. “I’m simply a terrified young girl in search of protection.”

There was a rush of wind and the door flew open, slamming back against the wall. Seconds later whatever had been lingering was gone. Alice smiled as she followed the path of the energy’s exit into the fading afternoon light.

John would be proud of his girl. She hadn’t killed a single person since coming here to the States. Of course, it wasn’t the death itself Alice Morgan craved as most women craved chocolate—No, not at all.

It was the hunt itself, the intellectual game of cat and mouse.

And as Sherlock Holmes would’ve said, the game was afoot.


	3. Infecting Everything You Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice has bored of watching and now she wants to play. When she plays though, there’s nothing deadlier. She knows which buttons to push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I have a mini-verse going on here being as this is the 3rd story. Never meant for that to happen, but…*shrugs* Title is from Evanescence’s song What You Want, one of many inspirations for these little forays into Alice’s world.
> 
> AU after S7 Ep18 of SPN and post-S2 of Luther

Lakeport State Park  
North of Port Huron, Michigan  
April 06, 2012

 

Ribbons of dense fog coiled between the trees lifting skyward into the night clouded by an approaching storm over Lake Huron. Behind the clouds, the moon was full and ripe though no human eye could see its beauty. Through the fog a young woman ran, feet bare, clothes torn and stained crimson with blood. As she ran, chest heaving, her breath exploded from her lips to join the fog in ghost-white streamers. Tears streaked her ashen face, hair wild and tangled as she glimpsed over her shoulder eyes bright with terror and lost her balance, toe catching on a broken limb on the forest floor.

Hands flung out to catch her weight she let out a shrill scream as she hit water rather than the solid earth she’d expected. The icy water soaked her as it flooded up over her head and swallowed her scream, filling mouth and nose. She knew without a doubt if the water didn’t claim her life the thing pursuing her would.

As she accepted her fate, strong fingers encircled her bicep. She coughed out copious amounts of lake water as she felt herself dragged from what could have been an icy grave and lifted into two strong arms. The smell of gunpowder infiltrated her nose as she buried her face into the man’s broad shoulder.

“Sammy, I got her! That son of a bitch is fast!”

“I think I hit the fucker, Dean, but I’m not sure!”

Clinging to the man, she continued coughing and tried to blink the water from her eyes as he lowered her to the ground. A face appeared in her line of vision, green-hued hazel eyes, and freckles the first things she noticed. Then he pulled back and shucked off his coat, wrapping it around her trembling body.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Nodding, her fingers dug into the edges of the coat and pulled it tighter as behind them a gun’s report echoed through the darkness. He turned toward the copse of trees as the clouds parted and moonlight pierced the shadows. The light encircled his profile in a silver halo for a split second then disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

“Sam!” he screamed.

No answer came and then another gunshot exploded in the darkness followed by a mournful howl through the fog.

“Take that you bastard!” a disembodied voice drifted from the trees.

The man who’d rescued her from the water, fist-pumped the air, and let out a whoop as a second man appeared at the edge of the trees, plucking stray twigs and leaves from his long hair. “You had me scared there for a second, Sammy.” he stood, jogging toward his companion and slapped him on the back earning a grin.

Sam crossed the rocky shoreline and knelt next to her, face shadowed by tangled hair, smile softening. “You okay, miss?”

“I think so.” She whispered.

“What’s your name?”

She looked up with pale eyes. “Alice…Alice Morgan.”

 

It was supposed to be simple, but when had anything been simple since they’d averted the Apocalypse. The monsters were weird even now, almost a year after Eve’s death. Sam shifted in the passenger seat of the car, eying the young woman they’d rescued tonight along the lake's shore. She lay curled on the back seat, Dean’s coat swallowing her petite frame, and slept. Her vibrant red hair spilled across the faded army green of the coat, almost the color of dried blood in the darkness. She reminded him of Anna with her milky complexion and red hair. Maybe that’s why Dean had remained silent as he drove back to the resort where they'd rented a cottage.

The storm broke before they reached the car and all three of them were drenched to the bone. Nothing worse than wet socks, he thought as he ran one hand through his dripping hair. He turned back to stare out the rain-slick windshield, rhythm of the wipers hypnotizing.

“It took two silver bullets to the heart with this one, Dean. I thought he had me when the first one didn’t take him out.”

Dean nodded, eyes never leaving the road.

“What next time, immunity to silver?”

“What the hell was she doing out there?”

Sam came damn near to jumping out of his skin when Dean spoke. “I don’t have a clue, but she has bruises around her wrists. You think maybe the wolf was holding her for some reason?”

“Don’t know.” he sucked on his lower lip, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “But that would mean this one was more human than it should be.”

To be honest Sam didn’t know what to say. Trying to deal with the monsters was bad enough, but dealing with these new breeds was taxing their resources. That coupled with the fact the Leviathans were still on their asses made things even worse to cope with.

Then there was the guilt.

Weeks had passed since Castiel had returned, healing him, and taking on the insanity that had nearly killed him. Weeks and nothing had changed according to Meg, not that he trusted the bitch. He knew why Dean had worked with her, but it didn’t mean he had to agree with or like the situation. He knew Meg on a more intimate level than Dean could imagine. Years ago, she’d possessed him and murdered a fellow hunter in an attempt to get his brother to pull the trigger on him. There was no way in hell he was going to let Dean know how he felt about Meg much less about the guilt he felt over Castiel.

In the back, Alice listened, face burrowed in Dean’s jacket as he and his brother talked in soft tones so as not to disturb what they believed was their sleeping passenger, an innocent girl saved from a savage werewolf. Executed with perfection her plan had gone over without a hitch, despite Crowley’s misgivings. It had been her demon companion who’d procured the werewolf with a bit of persuasion and the rest she’d done herself. Two hitchhikers murdered during the previous full moon, torn apart and their hearts ripped from their chests had been enough to lure the brothers to Port Huron.

If Alice knew anything, it was the peccadilloes of heroes. Their motivations were often translucent as glass, their hearts easy to manipulate. The Winchesters though were so psychologically fucked it was a piece of cake to get her foot in the proverbial door.

She smiled to herself as she recalled all the delicious secrets Crowley had offered when given the right motivation. These Leviathans she’d noticed tracking her prey might terrify Crowley, but he was more scared of her and for good reason. She might be human, walking case of Jaffa Cakes as far as the Leviathans were concerned, yet none of that mattered. What did matter was the lengths to which Alice would go to achieve her goals and these creatures didn’t have a clue about that.

Now she had to put into place step two of her plan.

 

They were pulling into the driveway of Armstrong’s Lakeport Resort when Sam heard their passenger stir awake. He and Dean had rented a cottage for the Easter weekend knowing it would be easier when most people were gathering for the holiday. The full moon being on Good Friday was a blessing. It could have been far worse had the campgrounds in the park been filled to capacity.

Sam turned to see Alice pushing up into a seated position, one pale shoulder visible as Dean’s coat slid down her arm. She yawned wide, scrubbing her eyes with one tiny hand, and then focused on him.

“How you doing?” he asked as Dean maneuvered the car through the winding roads to their cottage.

She smiled. “Better I suppose considering the circumstances.”

“You’re from the UK—right?”

“London.” She offered brushing hair from her face.

Her eyes were mesmerizing to him as she studied him with a curious glance. They were a robin’s egg blue and fringed with reddish gold lashes so pale as to almost disappear against her skin. Sam felt himself drawn to the girl although he never had been attracted to red heads in the past.

“You don’t seem very frightened.” Dean stated as he brought the car to a stop.

Their eyes met in the rear view mirror and Alice cleared her throat. “When you’ve seen the things I have, fear is not an option.”

“And what have you seen because I’m damned sure you never ran into a werewolf in Piccadilly Square.”

“Piccadilly Circus.” She corrected.

Dean frowned. “What?"

“The proper name is Piccadilly Circus and no, werewolves do not run wild through the streets of London—Dean was it?” her eyes pinned him like a butterfly to a board. “That doesn’t mean I’m unaware of their existence.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose as he glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye. “So, you’re a hunter?”

“Not exactly.” she replied, gaze never wavering from Dean’s face. “My parents were…let’s say…collectors of rare mystical objects. They were murdered two years ago for a certain item from their collection.”

“You remind me of another Brit we knew and she was nothing, but bad news.” Dean exited the car, a shiver sliding up his spine, and slammed the door leaving Alice and Sam alone.

“I’m afraid I’ve upset your friend.” She leaned back staring at the tattered roof.

“Brother,” Sam corrected. “And to be honest Dean’s been in a funk for a long time.”

Alice blinked, “Brothers? I wouldn’t have guessed. You look nothing alike.”

He chuckled. “You wouldn’t be the first to think we’re friends.”

It seemed Alice ascertained his meaning when she started to laugh. Shaking her head, she smiled. “I didn’t mean that type of friend.”

“Then you’d be the first who didn’t.”

 

Once they were back in the cottage, Sam loaned Alice a clean tee shirt and socks letting her retire to the bathroom for a shower. When she’d returned, he’d tended to the numerous cuts and abrasions she’d suffered. Dean on the other hand couldn’t seem to look at Alice much less listen as she told her story.

She’d came over to the States when a contact in London had told her there was noise about the stolen piece that had cost her parents their lives. Making her way to Port Huron, she’d been following a lead toward Sarnia across the border into Ontario. She’d stopped and rented a cottage in the Armstrong Resort two nights before. The night she checked-in someone snatched her from the grounds. She’d assumed it had something to do with her search for the missing piece. The next thing she knew her captor had released her in the woods and the wolf had started hunting her. It seemed a game and a few hours later Dean pulled her from the water.

Dean sat across the room, glass of whiskey in hand attention seemingly focused on his laptop, but Sam knew he was listening. After Alice finished her story he left, no explanation. It wasn’t as if Sam was perfect by a long shot, he wasn’t, but he’d hoped the tension would ease off with tonight’s hunt. If he were honest, the tension had simply gotten worse when they’d left Castiel behind and he’d known the hunt was a momentary distraction.

“Your brother, he seems to be hurting.”

“He is.” Sam sighed staring at the door. “I have no idea what to say or do anymore.”

Alice stood and walked to the end of the bed, kneeling at Sam’s feet. “You don’t have to talk to me about this, but did he lose someone recently?"

A lump rose in Sam’s throat. “Yes, we lost two people both of them so close together. There was Bobby and he was like a father to us and then a good friend got sick.”

When he started talking, he couldn’t stop the grief pouring out in waves. Afterward he could barely keep his eyes open he was so exhausted. Alice leaned forward on her knees and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. It seemed she could give him the one thing Dean couldn’t seem to—release from the guilt and grief.

 

When Sam finally fell into a deep slumber, Alice slipped from the room and headed for her own cottage. When she arrived, she slipped on a pair of jeans and pulled on boots, opting to continue wearing Sam’s tee shirt. An action that would show Sam she trusted him when she returned.

“Did you thank him proper? Perhaps shag him senseless?”

She lifted her head as she finished lacing her boot and met Crowley’s cold gaze. “And what if I did, Fergus? Would you be upset—jealous?”

Rolling his eyes, Crowley drifted about the room, fingers grazing the furniture and other random items. “Jealous? Are you insane? Oh, check that you are buggers—aren’t you, love."

Alice snorted. “Insanity is a matter of perception.”

He paused, eyebrow lifted in her direction. “Is it now? And precisely how do you propose to get Dean under your thumb? Moose was easy. You’d think after everything he’s been through he’d have lost that childish innocence. Dean on the other hand…” his words trailed off into a faint whistle.

“Anna.”

Crowley frowned. “Excuse me?"

Mouth twisting in a mock smile, Alice chuckled. “Anna, you do recall her—don’t you, sweetie? The wee fallen angel our poor wounded Dean fell into bed with.”

It took a second for the pieces to fall into place, but when they did, Crowley clapped his hands in amusement. “That idea, my darling Alice, is exquisite."

“Do you think so?” she stood and grabbed a jacket, tugging it on. “You see, dear, to deal with any problem you must have the proper equipment. Your biggest problem was you never had it.” She glanced pointedly at his crotch. “I on the other hand…” she twisted her finger into the waves of her red hair, tongue darting out to slide across pouted lips.

Crowley chuckled. “Of course, neither of us might have the right equipment.”

“And precisely what does that mean?” her eyes gleamed with irritation.

With an amused smirk, Crowley flapped his arms like wings, and then vanished before she could say a word.

Wings, she thought. She hated to admit it, but the bastard had a point. Dean Winchester did seem to have a proclivity for angels not surprising considering what he’d been destined to do. She headed for the door and paused to glance in the mirror, smoothing her hair down. Of course, he seemed to enjoy women as well so first thing was first. If the Anna plan didn’t play out proper then there was always the angel thing.

 

The storm clouds had cleared out a couple of hours before and the eastern horizon above the lake was beginning to lighten to shades of violet. Dean was damned sure Sam would be pissed about his quick exit when he returned. He’d offered no explanation when he’d left and in all honesty, Dean wasn’t sure he could have given his brother one that made a lick of sense.

The girl they’d rescued from the werewolf unnerved him like nothing since Zachariah had fluttered him into a future that had never come to pass. He remembered the look in his brother’s eyes as he’d stood in an overcast rose garden. It had been Sam, but not Sam. Whatever part of his brother that remained after Lucifer had taken possession of his body had been lost to the evil inside him. It wasn’t the look in his eyes though that bothered Dean the most. It was the innocence of his appearance, clothed in white, admiring the blood red roses, and so sure of his actions. Lucifer had believed he was in the right. He hadn’t been towing the company line so to speak he’d honestly believed his own words.

Alice had the same quality about her. There was the innocence in her appearance, but if you looked in her eyes, there was something not quite right. Of course, Dean could be letting everything he’d experienced in the past few weeks color his perception. Then there was the other thing.

Anna.

He hadn’t thought of Anna in what seemed forever. When they’d first met, she was simply a college student locked up and diagnosed with schizophrenia because she claimed to hear angels. It turned out she wasn’t ill, but rather she was an angel herself who’d chosen to fall, become human, eventually forgetting who and what she’d been.

Drawn to Anna before she remembered he’d wondered why until she retrieved her memories. He remembered listening to her beneath a starry sky in Bobby’s salvage yard explain what it was like to be an angel. That was when he understood his attraction to her. It was what lay beneath her skin. Neither of them wanted to be what they were and both had tried hard to forget what they’d become.

Alice looked like Anna—vivid red hair, porcelain perfect skin. Her appearance pulled anguish from deep inside him he’d thought laid to rest long ago. He blamed himself for what had happened to Anna. If they’d never—

His throat closed up mix of anger and grief leaving a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. They’d done God only knew what to Anna just as they had to Castiel in an attempt to manipulate and control both he and his brother. Castiel had fought it though as where Anna had given in; first trying to murder them and then traveling back to kill their parents. In the end, Michael had brought the wrath of heaven down on her and burnt her to ash.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding."

He glanced up into Alice’s eerie eyes and suppressed a shudder. “What the hell do you want?” he demanded.

She clambered onto the picnic table he was sitting on and took a seat next to him, eyes focused on the lightening sky, “To thank you proper for saving me tonight.

Dean snorted.

“Is it that difficult to accept a grateful thank you?” she asked.

“No.” he huffed. “Though I have to say, lady, I’m not sure how grateful you are.”

Alice turned and eyed Dean with what could have been a number of emotions. Her eyes shimmered in the faint light of the sun as it dipped above the horizon and for the first time since he’d lifted her from the water he actually felt regret. He was hurting, he knew that, but it didn’t give him a right to be angry or suspicious of her. She was a victim of circumstance as much as he was.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, thinking of Sam sitting alone back at the cottage and probably worrying himself sick. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Shifting she reached out, soft delicate hand cupping Dean’s jaw. He flinched at the gentle touch and tried to turn away. The memory of Anna rose again, the way she’d touched him and looked into his eyes as he fought the memories of what he’d done in Hell. He didn’t deserve the kindness she was offering. He’d allowed Bobby to die, his brother to suffer, and then there was Castiel. He’d thought him dead, but when he’d returned, healed Sam at the cost of his own sanity, he’d abandoned him to the tender mercies of Meg.

Kindness was the last thing he deserved.

Alice leaned in, thumb swiping away the tears on his cheek. “Dean, you must understand—control is an illusion. We are only human and there are things none of us can stop despite our best efforts.”

“You don’t know the things I’ve done.” The words hearkened back to what he’d said to Anna and his gut twisted in a knot. “Some of us are just failures."

“You saved me.” She offered.

He looked up to meet her eyes. All he saw was understanding and a part of him wished he could believe her words; really believe. Once he’d told Sam that he needed to stuff it all down, the anger, fear, and pain. That was what Winchesters did.

“You need to let go.” Alice whispered, fingers ghosting up his jaw to thread through his damp hair. “Nothing ever came from self-sacrifice without a price.”

Before he could reply, she leaned in their lips meeting in a tender kiss. With that single kiss, Dean felt as if his walls were crumbling. The grief, horror, and self-recrimination falling brick by brick until they all became like dust on the wind.The kiss deepened and even as he gave into her touch, some part of his mind whispered a warning. He ignored the voice he heard that sounded far too much like Bobby and he fell into the comfort she offered.

Damn it to hell, boy, she’s nothing but trouble. You need to walk away.

Bobby was dead, he thought. And he was never coming back no matter how much he wished it were possible. Alice was alive, breathing, and offered something not even Sam could—release from the pain.

 

John Luther sat at his desk, staring out at the skyline of London, and bounced a rubber ball off the wall. It was close to noon and he hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. He was exhausted, eyes bloodshot, but beneath the calm expression his mind was spinning wildly. Precisely seventy-two hours ago was the last he’d heard from Alice. At the time, unfortunately, his team was involved in a messy case.

Now he had time to think. Something she’d said had lodged in his brain, lingering until now. He imagined he should feel a bit of guilt, considering he was the one who’d helped her escape, but he couldn’t be bothered. The world as he saw it was no worse for Alice being in it, in actuality it was probably better, despite the fact she’d not only murdered her parents, but his ex-partner Ian Reed as well. He had never wanted Ian dead, he’d wanted to him to face the horrors he’d committed over a handful of gems.

Alice had taken the choice from him.

She’d done it for him. At least in her mind she had because she’d believed he wanted revenge for his wife Zoe’s death. She’d also done it because some part of her believed she was in love with him. He hadn’t wanted vengeance and Alice didn’t know what love was, but Zoe’s new lover Mark had on both counts. He’d wanted vengeance so badly he’d egged Alice on not that he needed to. John was quite sure she would have pulled the trigger either way. That was what sociopaths did. They possessed no moral compass. Ian had murdered in fear, Alice had murdered for the pure pleasure of seeing Ian bleed out on the floor.

“You need to go home, John.”

The ball dropped to the floor as he turned toward DSU Schenk. “What would you say if I requested some time away, Martin?”

“I’d say you’ve earned it after the year you’ve had.” He adjusted his glasses. “Of course, I’d also ask precisely where this request has suddenly appeared from.”

“Don’t know.” He answered massive frame filling the room as he stood and stretched.

He was being honest with Martin. He couldn’t quite explain why he had this sudden urge to hunt Alice down. It was a bit of a prick in the core of his brain. Even if he had been able to explain the urge, he couldn’t have said why specifically he needed the time to Martin. Martin wasn’t a fool. John imagined he had his suspicions about how Alice had so easily escaped, but he doubted he’d ever bring them up. He’d already risked his career to keep John working for the Metropolitan and he wasn’t about to admit he might have made a mistake.

“How much time do you need?” Martin asked.

John shrugged, “Couple of weeks if you can manage.”

“Consider it done.”

Martin turned to go and then paused in the door. “John.”

“Yes.”

“Do be careful wherever you go.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You never know what poisonous creature you might happen upon.”

John tipped his head and watched as Martin vanished around the corner. He knew the other man was right. Alice was a venomous creature especially when she was bored with the world. Her type of poison though had no cure in the end, infecting everything those around her loved. For the moment, she wouldn’t bite him though. Apparently, she’d discovered something else to occupy her time in the States. Her last call to him she’d asked him the oddest question.

Angels and demons, she’d inquired. Did he believe they existed?

Demons he’d seen his share of, but they were only evil humans. And if angels existed they’d never bothered doing their damn job, he thought.


End file.
